


Transposition

by Clyncye Rudje (Tiamat)



Category: Fire Emblem: The Sacred Stones
Genre: Alternate Universe, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Gen, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Major Character Undeath, Soul transfer, Unreliable Narrator, implied ephlyon, implied knoll/duessel, one-sided knoll/lyon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-07
Updated: 2020-08-07
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:15:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25772671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tiamat/pseuds/Clyncye%20Rudje
Summary: to change the relative positions of two or more things(Heed the tags.)
Relationships: Knoll & Lyon (Fire Emblem)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 8





	Transposition

Lyon snapped awake with a rasping gasp, hands frantically searching his chest for the wound that he _knew_ must have been left there—  
  
Then, he realized the whispers that had filled his mind for over a year had vanished, that he wasn't in the ancient temple that had held Fomortiis's body.  
  
Somehow, he was alive.  
  
But it was _wrong_ , in a way Lyon felt bone-deep; the weight of his body was wrong, the clothing wrong, his voice too deep, and even sitting he could tell he was far taller than he'd ever been before—  
  
A too-long lilac bang fell in front of his face, and his blood ran cold.  
  
Lyon forced himself to stand, and everywhere he looked he found the evidence of a truth he did not want to acknowledge. But without a reflective surface, he couldn't be _sure_ , could he?  
  
And K— _the caster_ must have understood that, because in the corner, on a small writing desk, was a mirror and a bit of paper. Lyon took several minutes to brace himself, minutes that didn't matter when he finally looked at his reflection. _Knoll's_ reflection. But Knoll never wore an expression like that, never carried himself like that, never—  
  
Lyon collapsed into a heap as the panic and grief overwhelmed him. He had long since learned how to cry silently, but even that knowledge couldn't keep the sobs from shaking his shoulders. The grief he felt was as bad as when his father died—worse, because he'd had no time to even try to prepare for it.  
  
There was no way to track time in the room; there were no windows, the door seemed to go to another interior area, and the lights were all sustained by magic. Lyon could have wept for minutes, or hours, and not have known. Finally, after what felt to him like an eternity, his tears ran dry. The pain had not dulled, not in the slightest, but he was utterly unable to cry more—his body would not allow it.  
  
Lyon half-dragged himself onto the stool in front of the desk, sat himself up, and picked up the paper. It was, as he'd suspected, a letter (— _a suicide note_ —) addressed to Lyon.  
  
  
  
_Lyon,  
  
If this works, I am no longer of this world. Forgive me; I could find no other method of bringing you back that did not require sacrifices I was unwilling to make.  
  
When you're able, find Ephraim; he's a king now, and he knows what I'm planning (no, he's not happy about it). There are warp coordinates to the Renais capital on the reverse. Dye your hair if you plan to use them.  
  
  
  
I love you. I'm sorry.  
  
— Knoll_  
  
  
  
Lyon wanted to scream, to rage at the sheer unfairness of it all (— _if anyone had to die it should have been Lyon_ —), but his body ( _Knoll's body_ ), exhausted from both his earlier grieving and whatever Knoll had done to prepare himself as a living sacrifice, barely managed a moan.  
  
It was a long and miserable search ahead to prepare for, and throughout it all he could think was how much easier it would have been with Knoll still there.  
  
He jolted out of his misery and into renewed panic at the sound of footsteps, heavy but fast, the owner not one he immediately recognized.  
  
They would be expecting Knoll.  
  
_He couldn't pretend to be Knoll._  
  
The suppurating memory of Fomortiis's mockery oozed through his thoughts, the Demon King's voice reflecting his insecurities into him tenfold, even though Lyon knew he was dead and gone. A worthless prince who couldn't even try to pretend to be the man whose face he now wore for a few minutes, just long enough to escape—  
  
The door opened. Duessel, several years greyer than his memory, entered the room. For a moment, he seemed to think Lyon was who he wore... but only a moment. As soon as he took in the differences in posture, in how Lyon held himself even in a strange frame, he took a deep, slow breath to steady himself before stating, "So. I was too late."

Lyon nodded. He wasn't sure of what had happened in the unknown years he spent in the abyss, but even a blind man would have been able to see how deeply being unable to prevent Knoll's death wounded him, could guess at why that was. The Obsidian General was a good man, and Lyon wished that could have been enough. 

The silence clung to the air between them like the moisture to the walls. What could possibly be said, that would undo their pain, their regrets?

Duessel broke the silence first, with a sigh that carried an unseen weight on it.

"I don't imagine you want to stay where you'd need to pretend to be him, so we'll need to prepare for travel."

Lyon was blindsided. 

"Y-you don't need to—"

Duessel shook his head firmly. "You have been dead for over a decade, and even before then you were reclusive. I will not see Knoll's sacrifice wasted because of a gap in your knowledge."

Lyon's throat tightened, once again brought to near tears by Duessel's... kindness? Sense of duty? ...Both? He wasn't sure why he had made the offer he had, but he appreciated it nonetheless.

Lyon told Duessel of the magic he could use to warp them most of the way there; in turn, Duessel worked with him to figure out what supplies they needed and filled him in on what had changed, what he had been unable to prevent despite years of effort. Their work went quickly, hastened by their mutual desire to leave Knoll's dying place, and they left Grado under the shadow of a cloudy night, aimed like a sniper's arrows at the capital of Renais.

Lyon did not know what would await him when he arrived, wearing unassuming black hair and Knoll's face, but if he stopped to think of anything but meeting Ephraim again he did not think he would be able to start again.

**Author's Note:**

> Expansion/cleanup of [this fic](https://twitter.com/Robbychu/status/1252339091879817218?s=20) I wrote on Twitter a while back, inspired by the AU laid out in [this tweet chain](https://twitter.com/gradoprinceIyon/status/1252289368858869767?s=20). 
> 
> I have had no ideas for how to continue it beyond this so if anyone wants to use this as a jumping-off point you have my blessing, just give me a nod in the author notes if you do.


End file.
